


I Can Be Your Alibi

by lindsaylohan



Series: Live Or Die [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Anal Sex, Blood, Bloodplay, Castration, Consensual Violence, Deepthroating, Knifeplay, Knives, M/M, Murder, Non-Consensual Violence, Rimming, Serial Killers, Sexual Violence, basically every violence there is, harry has an interesting fetish, if you really love niall this isnt for you, zouis brotp/friends w bens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:43:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1539764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindsaylohan/pseuds/lindsaylohan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sometimes louis kills people. harry doesn't mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can Be Your Alibi

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to yessi (@tomlindaddy) and fiore (@cockteaselouis) for their constant support in me writing this.  
> shoutout to lizette (@ctmytown) for feedback when I nervously read her this as a bedtime story  
> you can find me on twitter @astrolougy

His heart was beating steadily, but his hands shook from the adrenaline. Louis could crush her here and now, snap her bones in half. He was itchy and hot all over, every pore on his skin getting pricklier with each whimper she made against the filthy rag stuffed in her mouth. Louis especially liked the eyebrows, paying close attention to their upwards slant on each of his victims. Eyebrows are some of the most important features of a human face, and Louis found that they reveal much more emotion than the watery eyes themselves, or the tremble of a bitten lip. The furrowed, upwards slant conveyed his favorite emotion—fear.

When Louis was seventeen, he tried cocaine for the first time, offered to him at a dirty house party where the sight of smeared lipstick and the stench of piss was inescapable. Being the unafraid, reckless teen that he was at the time, the three messy lines of grayish-white blow sent Louis over the edge, fire coursing through his veins. He’d never felt more powerful.

But the power he felt with his current habits far outweighed that. The fire turned to steel, making him the strongest he could ever be. He was playing God.

“Baby,” he crooned to the girl kneeling at his feet, “did you really think I’d pay to fuck some cheap slut like you?” Her wrists and ankles were bound in harsh cable wire, stuck in an irreversible, complicated knot that had been thoroughly perfected throughout the years.

She whined again, tears spilling down her cheeks in tiny, black rivers. Her eyes were bloodshot, and Louis mused inwardly that they must sting from the pharmacy-bought eyeliner she had so carefully applied earlier in the night.

“You’re nothing but a whore,” Louis murmured, kneeling down until he was face-to-face with the girl. “Hm? Say it, _I’m nothing but a whore_.” He reached out and briskly removed the gag from her mouth. She cried harder.

“I-I’m nothing,” she hiccupped, swallowing the snot that has dripped into her mouth, “nothing but a whore.”

Louis grinned. He liked them like this, so helpless and weak and entirely under his control.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice turning sharp. He kicked her chest with the bottom of his shoe. The girl stumbled back, unable to catch her balance without the use of her limbs.  

Her breathing was ragged, and she coughed slightly. “Say it.” He slapped her face with a gloved hand.

The girl screamed instead, her hoarse voice ringing through the woods.

Every hair on Louis’ body made him itchy, so itchy and he couldn’t breathe, his thighs trembling in a need for release. “You little fucking—”

He grabbed her by her sweaty hair, pulling her up until she was writhing. “No—no please, please, please!”

Louis swiftly pulled out his favorite knife—the trailing-point blade—and drove it into the girl’s stomach repeatedly, her hot blood spilling all over his arm and dripping own her body. Her eyes had gone wide, almost popping out, and no sound came from her bitten raw lips.

She stilled, a final huff of air resounding from her mouth, and Louis slipped the blade out, wiping it clean on the girl’s jacket that lay off to the side. His own body seemed to still along with hers, a calm wave washing over him, letting him breathe freely. His mind was completely clear.

 

_“What if the sky and the stars are for show,_

_And the aliens are watching live?”_

The hum of the husky voice awoke him, and he cracked his neck loudly as he sat up, squinting at the bit of sunlight that shone through between his curtains.

“Oi, is Sleeping Beauty awake now?” A head appeared in the doorway to match the singing voice.

“Fuck off, Zayn,” Louis grumbled, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn.

His roommate grinned back at him lazily. “For once I’m awake before you.” He pulled a cigarette pack from the back pocket of his jeans. “Late night?” he raised his eyebrows.

Louis stood up, glaring at the other boy. He pulled on a pair of sweats hastily. “None of your business.” He snatched the pack from Zayn’s hand and walked out to their tiny balcony. It was seriously none of his business. Zayn laughed, unbothered, and followed him.

In fact, it was a late night. As the pair stood in silence, Louis recalled flashbacks from the previous night, sneaking in the flat at three in the morning, furiously scrubbing blood off his boots and knives, running the washing machine three times to get the blood stains out of his gloves. He took a long drag of the Marlboro, turning to his side to blow it out in Zayn’s face.

His best mate was quite beautiful, almost exquisitely so, with chiseled cheekbones and a razor-sharp jawline. Zayn’s long, dark eyelashes fluttered over his caramel eyes as he tried to avoid the smoke. He raised his eyebrows slightly.

“What time is it?” Louis muttered, flicking the ash at the dead branches of the trees outside. Snow would start falling soon, from the looks of the grey sky. The dead light muted the colors of everything, clouding the browned grass so that it seemed even duller. The small orange spark gave only a tiny moment of vibrance against the dreariness.

“About nine thirty, probably,” Zayn answered, running a hand through his dark hair.

“Fuck, _class_ ,” Louis stubbed the end of his cigarette on the balcony railing, turning to walk back inside. “Remind me again why we didn’t choose to live in the dorms?”

“Because we fucking hate everybody,” Zayn called back, laughing as he put out his cigarette in the ashtray. He followed Louis back in.

Zayn folded his arms, sitting down on the ratty green couch to watch Louis pull a grey sweater over his petite frame. “There’s a party tonight at Horan’s place, if you wanna go.” He watched Louis struggle to squeeze his ass into a pair of unbearably tight black jeans.

“Sounds good. Rich douchebag parties supply decent alcohol, at least.” Louis scrambled to stuff his books into his bag.

Zayn nodded. “Could use a good fuck, too. I don’t know if you need one, with all those nights coming home at the crack of dawn.”

Louis squinted at the smirk playing on Zayn’s face, and where did his Vans go? Right here, okay. He forced his tiny feet into them and shook his head, grabbing his bag to go out the door. “Don’t smoke in the house.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Maybe when you learn how to use the ashtray rather than accidentally starting fires on the dead leaves outside.”

Louis slammed the door on his way out.  
 

He was turning twenty one in a couple of months, so _why_  was he sitting in this Intro to Philosophy class with a bunch of naïve freshmen? Oh right—the ethics credit requirement. College was such a fucking joke.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” his professor coughed meekly.

Louis looked up from his doodle on his notebook with a bored expression. “Yeah?” He gave his professor a pointed look. The professor blushed furiously. He was a Princeton alumni, but apparently at Princeton one does not get taught confidence and the importance of prestige, because this asshole was the shiest, most stuttering mess Louis’ ever seen.

“Could you please briefly summarize Galen Strawsen’s Theory of Free Will for the class?”

Louis leaned back in his chair lazily. “Strawsen’s pessimistic theory on free will stated that we as human beings are not responsible for who we are or what we do—our entirety as a person and all of our actions are the result of the combination of nature and nurture,” he recited. Louis raised his eyebrows at the professor. “Is that good enough, Dr. Payne?”

His professor (with—yes, a _doctorate_  in philosophy) coughed again. “Yes, and what do you think of Strawsen’s theory?”

Louis shrugged, taking the pencil on his desk and tapping it against his lips. “I think if Strawsen’s theory was largely believed, then we’d have a lot more rapists and killers around.” He grinned widely, appreciating his own response when his peers laughed.

Dr. Payne nodded. “Very true.” Louis did not take his eyes off his flushed professor, rubbing the eraser of his pencil against his bottom lip. This guy was _weak_.

His professor coughed even louder. “Now, let’s compare Strawsen’s theory to the Compatibalist Theory…”

The words coming out of Dr. Payne’s mouth faded away, but Louis could not rip his eyes off the professor. The way his small hands shook as he turned the page of the documents they were reading. The way he would pause and cough after every sentence, the sentences themselves taking forever to leave his mouth because he stuttered so much. The way he couldn’t meet the eyes of even one student during his lectures.

Louis had to have him. He could almost taste the sweat dripping down Dr. Payne’s sideburns as he held a drop-point blade to his cheek, so, so very close to piercing the skin. Louis’ knees shook under the desk. His sweaty palm left a wet patch on the sheet of notebook paper he was clutching. He licked his lips over and over and over again, grinding his teeth.

His skin was getting itchy again.

 

 

“You’ve almost completely succeeded in perfecting your wannabe persona as a Tortured Poet Douchebag, Zayniepoo.”

Louis plopped himself down on Zayn’s lap, knocking the book Zayn was reading to the concrete floor. Zayn rolled his eyes. “You’re a dick.”

Louis plucked the cigarette dangling from Zayn’s lips and took it in his mouth. “Bet it was Hemingway again, wasn’t it?”

Zayn blushed. “Definitely not.”

“It was too!” Louis crowed, scrambling off his friend’s lap to get the novel. “ _The Sun Also Rises_.” Louis squeezed Zayn’s cheek, plopping back into his friend’s lap. He nuzzled into Zayn’s scruffy neck as the other boy lit another cigarette.

“Why’re you reading at a party, hm?”

Zayn shrugged. “Got to be a little much, I guess.”

“You’re not _nearly_  drunk enough, my friend,” Louis kissed his neck softly.

Zayn snorted and shifted in his seat on the marble bench they were sat on on the veranda. “I think you’re definitely drunk enough, my _friend_.”

The boy in his lap giggled. “’ve only had three beers, Zaynie.” He stood up suddenly, grabbing Zayn’s hand to pull him up off the bench. “C’mon. You’re gonna enjoy this party. Find some hottie to shag and go home with her.”

Zayn grinned. “I can always just take you home if I get lazy.” He wiggled his eyebrows lewdly.

Louis rolled his eyes, snatching his hand away from Zayn’s grasp. “That was _once_!”

“Mhm, how about the time in the shower?”

Louis glared at him. “I was drunk.”

“That night on the couch?”

“We got stoned!” Louis stomped his foot. “And I was _horny_ ,” he whined.

Zayn laughed loudly. “I’m sure you absolutely couldn’t stop yourself.”  
Louis rolled his eyes again and started walking towards the house. ‘It’s not my fault my best friend is like, unfairly hot.” He grabbed Zayn’s arm again. “Put your stupid book away and go find someone to dance with.”

As Zayn stumbled off towards the bar and to the preying looks of at least five blonde bimbos, Louis breathed out a sigh of relief—his friend won’t be coming home tonight.

 

 

The Horan house parties were well known. Mostly due to the fact that Niall Horan, the respective son of a prestigious lawyer, supplied some of the best liquor and DJs in the mansion he owned at the ripe age of 18, handed to him free of charge by his father. Niall would have been a frat boy if he wasn’t filthy rich. He certainly acted like one, going to the university Louis went to only for The College Experience. In his three years of college, Louis is pretty sure that Niall has not passed one class (except for Musical Engineering 1001, only because he slept with the jazz director). His father’s donations to the university allowed Niall to remain in college until his son got all the youthful recklessness out of his system before starting a job at his father’s firm.

Basically, he was exactly the kind of guy Louis hated.

Niall didn’t deserve a single thing he had, from the expensive cars and house and maid, to the bottles upon bottles of whiskey, to his many _friends_  and girls on his arm. He didn’t deserve a stable income and a promised career without having lifted a finger.

He didn’t deserve shit. In fact, Louis concluded, he deserved to die.

Louis decided this on the way to the party about two hours ago. He was still itchy and giddy from philosophy class, and even the blunt he shared with Zayn couldn’t calm him down. He would explode if he didn’t get anyone tonight. His knives were packed in a thin case in the inner lining of his jacket, and he could feel their hardness press against the side of his ribs every step he walked.

His hands were sweaty and shaky again as he approached the blond prick, who was at least three fourths down the road to Thoroughly Trashed.

Even though he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol, Louis might as well have been drunk; he was buzzing, able to feel every hair on his skin individually as he made his way towards the boy. He grabbed a plastic cup of—what was that, vodka?—off the counter and sauntered up to Niall. This was going to be easy.

“Louis!” a girl that Louis recognized from last year’s comp class cheered. Everyone welcomed Louis with smiles and pats on his back. Sometimes Louis forgot that he was actually so well-known, and very well-liked around these parts. Niall gave him a grin and Louis steadily made small talk, pretending to sip from his cup every now and then, throwing out jokes and assuming his natural role as the center of attention.

  
They stumbled up the stairs, Niall giggling into Louis’ shoulder the whole way up while Louis gripped his waist, praying that the drunken frat boy wouldn’t pass out on him. After enduring a game of beer pong and an extensive recollection of all the times Niall pissed in the shampoo bottles of all his fraternity housemates, Louis had murmured into Niall’s ear a promise of a blowjob, and the idiot followed him without question. Louis made sure to slip through the crowd unnoticed. He was grateful that Niall was the kind of boy who attracted such a mass of people, and there was not a sober face in sight. Perfect. People stumbling about, laughing uproariously, kissing and groping…exactly the sort of thing Louis avoided. All alcohol really does is dull your senses and makes you lose focus. Louis had an advantage to all these people—a sharp, clear mind, with which he could easily fabricate a lie when the police come questioning.

“Where’s your bedroom, love?” Louis asked softly as the reached the second floor.

Niall stumbled out of Louis’ arms and slumped against the nearest wall, looking half-asleep but smiling nonetheless. “I…wait. Feel like I’m gonna—”

Louis grabbed his waist and steered him to an open door that led to the bathroom. Of course Niall Horan would be not only on the verge of blacking out but also drunk enough to be throwing up. Louis rolled his eyes, grinding his teeth as he closed the bathroom door behind them. His patience was wearing out. This kid was _disgusting_ , an utter useless _waste_  of a human being, getting absolutely everything handed to him without putting forth any effort whatsoever. He didn’t even earn his friends; he wasn’t funny or witty or intelligent—all of his social skills depended solely on alcoholic aid. Louis briefly compared a hooker to Niall Horan while the blond boy violently puked into the toilet. Niall Horan seemed to be even worse infectious human waste than a prostitute; at least the typical prostitute earned her pay, worked for it, even if she was too lazy to go to college and find a real job to work at in order to earn her pay.

Louis tapped his foot impatiently, and the familiar surge coursed through him. It was anger unlike he ever experienced—this boy _deserved_  to die, and now.

“Niall, get up,” Louis demanded in a sharp tone.

The boy raised his head from where he was kneeling over the toilet bowl, his mouth smeared in vomit. Louis wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I said, get _up_.”

Niall shakily stood up, almost tripping over his feet.

“You look disgusting,” Louis sneered, stepping closer to the boy.

Niall shifted on his feet. “Are you,” he hiccupped, “are you gonna suck me off now?”

He didn’t even think before he pushed Niall down, the blond boy’s skull hitting the toilet rim with a sickening _crack_. “Are you really going to fucking ask me that? You’ve got the fucking _nerve_  to ask me that? Parading yourself around getting whatever the hell you want, thinking that someone like _me_ —” Louis’ voice cracked as it rose an octave, “—would blow you when you have vomit dripping out of the sides of your mouth, much less give you the time of _day_?”

“I’m—I—”

Louis punched the boy, his fist making direct contact with Niall’s nose, and from the looks of the blood and the sound that was emitted, his nose was now broken. Not that it mattered.

“What are you doing, you psychotic fuck?” Niall spat through the blood running down to his mouth, clutching his nose in agony.

Louis laughed, “Your nose is the least of your problems now.” He ran his bloodied fist under the tap before he slipped on his leather gloves and carefully took out the case hidden in his jacket.

Niall’s eyes widened as Louis opened the case. “Are you..are you going to kill me?” he whispered.

Louis chuckled. “No, love, not going to kill you. Now be a darling and pull your pants down. Try not to get any puke on them.”

Niall visibly relaxed and shrugging, pulled his shorts down. Louis kneeled down beside the boy, careful not to dirty his jeans.

Niall smirked proudly, “So you _are_  gonna blow me.” He nodded his head triumphantly.

Louis rolled his eyes. This boy had no brains in his head and a neverending slew of cockiness to fill it instead. He picked the desired blade from his case, one with a sharp, straight edge that curved upwards at the end to meet a short, blunt point from the dull back. Louis grinned; he rarely used this one.

“Niall, dear, this knife is called the Spey Point. Do you know why?”

Niall shook his head dumbly, wiping some more blood that trickled out of his nose.

Louis smiled again, reaching his gloved hand to wrap it around Niall’s cock. He was getting hard already. “Because, _Nialler_ , this style of blade was originally used in the neutering of livestock,” he explained.

The blond boy nodded.  
Louis cocked his head. “I think it’s time to put this wonderful little blade to its original use, don’t you think?”

Before Niall could process what was just said to him, Louis was sawing off the frat boy’s left ballsack. The music downstairs might have been loud, but surely wasn’t deafening enough to block out the bloodcurdling screams Niall was emitting now. Louis picked up Niall’s discarded shorts from the floor and stuffed them in the boy’s mouth, effectively shutting him up. The left testes was sliced off quickly, followed by the right, blade having lived up to its name. Louis’ heart was pounding and his grin stretched wide. There was nothing that compared to this feeling. He looked up at Niall’s face, which was reddened to an almost violet shade at this point, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead off the tip of his nose. His eyes were wide and dazed, the alcohol still streaming through his system, but he was quickly sobering. His eyebrows almost reached his hairline, then furrowed down as he tried his best to endure the pain.

Now, which blade to finish the job? Louis peered into his case and—

“Um, what are you doing?”

Louis whipped around to the direction of the voice, which was coming, incidentally, from…the shower? Peeking from behind the hideous pink-and-black shower curtain was a baby face that was attached to a head of unruly brown curls.

Louis narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck are _you_  doing here?”

The boy pulled back the shower curtain to reveal his body covered by a baby blue blanket. “Was sleeping.” He ran his fingers through his curls. “I hate these kind of parties where everyone gets sloppy and trashed, but I’m nice enough to offer my bedroom to anyone who wants to hook up.” The boy shrugged.

 _He’s_ the one who’d been sloppy, fuck. Louis hadn’t bothered to check to make sure the bathroom was empty before he dragged Niall in here. His heart pounded. “Fuck.” He’d always been careful, he’d never, ever made a mistake like this.

Niall’s eyes were wide again and he was straining against his gag.”Hmph-mmmh!” He tried to reach towards the boy in the tub but was too weak; Louis was still straddling his legs. Louis’ eyes flickered up to the boy, gauging his reaction. He looked confused more than anything, getting out of the shower to sit on the edge of the tub, wrapping the blanket around him.

“Will Niall be okay?” he asked softly, his eyes finding Louis’.

Louis scoffed. “ _No_ ,” he answered the boy sharply. “What’s your name, kid?”

The boy frowned. “I’m hardly a kid. I’m nineteen. And my name is Harry.”

Louis raised his eyebrows at the boy’s audacity.  He weighed his options. This boy was much bigger than him, and sober, but he seemed to be an unlikely threat. “Harry,” he said slowly, “you know that if you try to get help or run out of this room, I will kill you without hesitation?”

Harry nodded, biting his full red lip. He squeezed his knees together and wrapped the blanket tighter around him.

“Good,” Louis pursed his lips. “Now get up slowly and hold your friend Niall’s arms down.”

This seemed to be the moment Niall remembered that he even had arms, and began scrambling to reach the counter to pull himself up. Harry quickly shrugged his blanket off and grabbed Niall’s wrists behind his back.

Louis nodded. Okay, this might not be a disaster, after all. He reached for his case again to pick out a blade.

Harry mumbled something indistinct.

Louis turned to him sharply. “What?”

The curly-haired boy licked his lips and looked up at Louis. ‘He’s not..my friend.”

Louis raised an eyebrow.

Harry coughed. “You said…‘your friend Niall’. He’s not my friend,” Harry explained. “I just live with him here. I grew up with his boyfriend Josh, so," he shrugged. "So here I am.”

 _Boyfriend_? Louis sighed exasperatedly and looked up at the ceiling. This boy was beyond ridiculous. “Harry, you know I will kill you as quickly and painfully as possible once I’m done with Niall if you keep talking?”

Harry’s eyes widened, but he shut his mouth.

Louis returned to his case. He had his needle-point blade, with the sharpest tip, his tanto blade, used in traditional Japanese swords…maybe a spear point, best used for daggering this little son of a bitch?

Harry coughed.

Louis exhaled and looked to the boy, his lips pressed in a tight line. “Did you have something to say?”

Harry bit his cheek, shifting to hold Niall’s wrists tighter as the blond boy struggled against the hold. “I…I like the big one,” he whispered.

Louis raised an eyebrow. ‘The big one’ would be the drop point blade, whose edge curved from the spine to the belly of the knife, forming the tip. It was a blade ideal for cutting or piercing due to its strong, robust tip. Louis shrugged. “Maybe you’re of some use after all, Harry.”

Harry gave him a small smile.

“Drop him down to the floor,” Louis instructed. Niall was dragged into a lying position on the floor of the bathroom, with Harry holding his wrists tight over his head. Louis sat back down on Niall’s thighs. He leaned down until his face was centimeters from Niall’s. Louis wrinkled his nose. “Still reek of puke,” he muttered. Niall looked ready to give up; his eyebrows lay in a peaceful line, blue eyes appearing tired. He had accepted his death.

“Now, when I remove your shorts from your mouth, you’re going to tell me what you are, okay?” Louis peered at him. “Ready?” He ripped the cloth from Niall’s mouth.

“I—” Niall gasped a breath of air. “I’m—I…” he stammered.

Louis shook his head. “Repeat after me: _I’m filth_.”

Niall nodded. “I’m...I’m filth.” Tears began to run down his cheeks.

Louis grinned. “ _I’m scum_.”

“I’m sc-scum,” Niall sobbed.

Louis slid the drop point blade out of his case and thrust the tip into Niall’s neck, effectively finding the jugular on the first try—blood spurted out immediately, hitting Louis’ cheek. Niall screamed out helplessly. Louis slid the knife down across the boy’s skin, creating an incision of about five inches. The crimson liquid trickled out of the boy’s neck, and Niall fell silent, his last breath leaving his mouth in a twisted grimace.

Louis liked to think that the breath leaving the people he’s killed was giving him life, because the next breath he took was like the air of freshest spring, clean and whole and filling his body with a sense of calm. His heart slowed and he closed his eyes, taking it in.

He opened his eyes to see his knees and calves drenched in the puddle of blood that surrounded Niall’s body. “Fuck.” He couldn’t very well go back out to the party looking like this.

He heard a cough. “Um, can I let go of his wrists now?” Harry said meekly.

Louis laughed. He’d almost forgotten Harry was in the room. “Yes, love, you can let go.”

Harry dropped Niall’s arms on the tile, sitting up on the floor. He had a dazed look on his face.This was unusual for Louis, to have anyone helping him kill, or even watching him. He remembered that most people would be rather shaken after an event like this, and briefly took pity on Harry, because the younger boy hadn’t done anything wrong to deserve what Louis was about to do to him, except be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He sighed, looking at Harry to see the boy looking back at him expectantly, as if waiting for his next command. He had his little red bitten lip between his teeth again, and Louis mused inwardly that if he weren’t in this particular situation with this boy, he’d like to put something else between those lips.

Louis hastily grabbed his clip point blade, used for a quick puncturing. “Harry, get up.”

The curly-haired boy stood up slowly, trembling. “You’re going to kill me, too,” he whispered.

Louis beckoned Harry to come closer, and when Harry did, he pushed him up against the wall. “You were in the way, Harry, I can’t keep you alive,” he breathed in Harry’s ear.

The younger boy nodded. “Um, what do you want me to do?”

Louis laughed, grabbing Harry’s wrist tightly. Harry’s breath hitched. “You know I’m about to kill you yet you ask me what I want you to _do_?”

Harry looked down, about to cry. “I’m sorry, I—I just don’t want to make things more difficult for you.”

A surge of pity and something like guilt flooded through Louis’ body. He put his finger under Harry’s chin and tilted his head up so that Harry was facing him. “Harry, love, it’s not your fault. I’m sorry that I have to do this.”

“I understand,” Harry whispered.

Louis raised the blade to Harry’s neck and quickly made a small incision.

“Oh!” Harry whimpered, pressing himself closer to Louis.

Louis opened his mouth and closed it again, dropping his hand down. “Are you…does this _do_  something for you?”

Harry blushed and yes, apparently it did, because Louis could feel the younger boy get hard against his thigh. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

Harry gulped, “Can I…can I kiss you?” He blushed again. “Please, I just—I really want to kiss you right now.” His green eyes stared into Louis’, and he bit his lip again.

Louis surged forward, unable to stop himself, and pressed his lips hard against Harry’s. Harry grabbed his waist and melted into Louis, prying his lips open with his tongue.

 "Please," Harry moaned into the kiss, licking into Louis' mouth.

Louis dropped the blade to the ground and shoved Harry harder against the wall with a loud thud.

Harry gasped and broke away from the kiss, eyes boring into Louis' as his face flushed a deep pink color. 

"Please," he whispered breathlessly. "Please, can I blow you?"

Louis nodded, his heart racing but all he could think about was this boy's lips around his cock. 

Harry quickly dropped to his knees and fumbled with the zipper on Louis' jeans. 

There was a dead—there was a dead _body_ on the floor two feet away from them and this boy was pulling his cock out and wrapping his full lips around the head and fuck, Louis couldn't _think_ , he couldn't think about anything at all.

Harry moaned around his cock, pulling his own out to fist it. Louis grabbed the back of Harry's head to pull him in until Harry's nose was buries in his pubes. Harry coughed and sputtered, gagging violently but Louis shoved himself further down Harry's throat, fucking into him relentlessly. He tangled his fingers in the younger boy's brown curls, pulling hard enough that he knew it hurt Harry. 

Louis' head was spinning. Harry was mumbling something against his cock, and Louis loosened his grip on the boy's hair to let him pull off and speak. 

Harry gasped as he finally took a breath of air, shoulders heaving with the pulse of his heart. The veins on his neck bulged and Louis could just make out the trickle of blood that has descended from the cut he had made. His dick was harder than ever.

Harry looked up at him, eyes pleading. "Fuck me, fuck me, _please_. I need it, I need it so bad, _please_ , please."

Louis pulled the boy up roughly by the collar of his shirt, grabbing Harry's hips forcefully and pushing him to the ground, inches away from Niall's dead body. Harry landed on the tile in the growing puddle of blood, which soaked his clothes and hair.

Both boys hurriedly pulled their jeans off and Harry spread his legs, steadily stroking his cock. He looked up at Louis hungrily. 

Louis bit his lip. Harry's ass was now wet with red, as if someone had spilled paint all over him. It was too much; there was so much _blood_ , and Louis was so itchy again, his skin prickling.  He was hot and cold and everything all at once. He wanted—he wanted so much, he wanted—

"Harry," he breathed, "can I..." He bit his lip.

Harry nodded furiously. "Anything, anything you want."

"Wanna eat you out like this."

Harry's head rolled back, hitting the tile and he spread his legs farther apart. "Yes,   _please_ , yes."

"Flip over," Louis instructed. 

Harry scrambled to get on his hands and knees, pushing his ass out in Louis' face.

It was a sight: Harry's grey t-shirt was soaked through entirely with Niall's blood, creating a large wet spot on his back. Harry's muscles flexed involuntarily beneath the blood-stained fabric as he breathed heavily. Louis' eyes travelled down the length of Harry's back. His ass was smeared with crimson, dripping down the curves of his cheeks and down to his hole.

It was too much and as usual, not enough. 

Louis surged forward and licked around Harry's rim, tasting the blood of his victim. He could barely make out Harry's whimpers as he moved his tongue to suck on Harry's hole. Louis delved the tip of his tongue into the younger boy, causing him to emit a loud moan. He felt Harry's thighs trembling against him as he worked him open with his tongue. 

"Fuck me, just fuck me now, _please_ , I need it, I'm ready." Harry pushed himself back, fucking himself on Louis' tongue.

Louis pulled himself away from Harry's shaking body to examine his work. There was barely a drop of blood remaining on Harry's ass and his hole fluttered in anticipation. 

He pushed into Harry with one swift stroke, causing Harry's arms to collapse to the ground. Louis held himself there, trying to catch his breath.

"Fuck, _move_. Please," Harry whimpered.

Louis pulled almost completely out before slamming back into the boy's sweaty, blood-smeared body. He was relentless and Harry offered himself so _easily_ and Louis could barely breathe. All he saw was the red. With each thrust, Niall's blood splashed onto Harry's thighs. His face was turned to its side and his curls were drenched in sweat and blood.

It was so dirty, so _filthy_ , and Louis couldn't stop, _wouldn't_ stop. Harry clenched around him, milking his orgasm out of him until Louis released into Harry with a harsh groan.

Harry moaned and followed closely, stroking his cock until his come splashed into the crimson puddle beneath him.

The boys collapsed onto the floor, Harry turning himself over to lay down comfortably. Louis rested his head in the crook of Harry's armpit.

"That was..." Harry laughed, licking his lips. 

Louis snorted. "Just what you needed?"

"Yes," Harry grinned, pulling an arm around Louis' shoulder.

Louis shook his head. It was...certainly something.

After a moment, Harry looked at him seriously. "I didn't...like. I wasn't trying to distract you." He set his mouth in a firm line. "In fact, I was more distracted than anything." He took a breath. "I understand what you have to do."

Louis looked up at the ceiling. He could hear the bass still thumping downstairs. Harry's arm felt warm around him.

"Harry," Louis turned his head to look at the boy carefully. "I just killed your friend Niall."

"He's not my—"

Louis slapped a palm over Harry's mouth. "Not your friend. I got it." Louis rolled his eyes. "That doesn't change the fact that I killed him."

Harry was silent for a moment. "He was kind of a douchebag anyway," he shrugged. 

Louis couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. "He was."

Harry smiled softly and looked at Louis. Louis noticed that his eyes were green and clear, and his eyebrows worry-free. "I won't tell anyone," he whispered.

Louis thought for a moment. This was dangerous, and he could feel himself regretting it already. But this was a boy who just begged to be fucked in a puddle of blood with a decaying body right next to him.

Louis finally nodded, pressing a soft kiss to Harry's bloody lips.

"I never asked...what's your name?" Harry's eyes shined.

"Louis," he grinned. "Louis Tomlinson."

Harry kissed him again. "Pleasure to meet you, Louis Tomlinson." He reached his other hand around to shake Louis'.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you all liked it! might write a sequel


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